


ready to comply

by radstereo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 15:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radstereo/pseuds/radstereo
Summary: The Winter Soldier's trigger words were so much more than just words.





	ready to comply

It is 2014, and the room is cold. A group of people surround a chair, containing a man. He is screaming. There are two circular plates pressed to his temples, lighting up against his skin and hair. The group around watches in pride, holding their heads high as the man in the chair cries in agony. His hands grip the sides of the chair— one of flesh, holding weakly, like he was going numb there. And the other— metal... cold, silver metal— crushing the material underneath of its tight grip.

When it has finally ended, one man in the group steps forward, and smiles.

 

*

 

For as long as Bucky Barnes could remember, he'd wanted Steve Rogers. When he was thirteen and peeling the boy's beaten-up body off of the curb, he'd wanted to hug the blond until he stopped bleeding so badly. When he was fourteen and watching the way his friend's eyes darted across the blackboard up front as he copied down the English notes, he'd wanted those blue eyes to be raking across him. When he was fifteen and kissed a girl for the first time, in the back of his mind, he'd wanted it to be Steve's lips against his, moving slowly and unexperienced. The same went with so many things that happened throughout Bucky's adolescence— all of those landmarks he hit through his teenage years, all of those milestones; he'd wanted it all with Steve. Bucky knew he couldn't have that. But that didn't stop him from wanting.

"Longing," They say, and this memory triggers itself away. He forgets.

 

*

 

Steve's bike rusted a lot more frequently than what was considered normal when they were kids. It seemed like the damn thing was always squeaking as he attempted to pedal it, struggling to keep up with Bucky's fast-paced one. He never left it out in the rain, or even got it wet, for that matter. It was always safely perched up inside of his apartment, right by the door, so if he wanted to hop on it and go, he could go. But when it did rust, Bucky was always the one to fix it.

Sometimes it was just too far gone to fix. But, other times, Bucky could slather on some of the stuff his dad uses on their cars, and then Steve's bike wouldn't squeak so damn loud anymore. Bucky had always been quite good at fixing things after he started fixing Steve's bicycles. And once they grew out of it, both too big to even fit on their old bikes anymore, Bucky'd started fixing up old cars, and driving them around to see how far they could go before eventually breaking down again. Steve thought he was so strange for it all— but in the good way. Bucky was unique, unlike anyone he'd ever met. That was nice for Steve.

"Rusted," They say, and this memory triggers itself away. He forgets.

 

*

 

In 1934, Bucky turned seventeen. He hadn't wanted to make a big deal out of it, really just wanting to spend the day with Steve. He had other friends, but none of them compared to the blond he could call his best.

The two had wound up going out to eat for the night, ending up with a large bill to pay and not enough money. So, being Bucky, he'd made sure that the coast was clear before dragging Steve away from their table and darting for the door. And, being Steve, the younger of the two was freaked the whole time, until they got back to Bucky's newly purchased car, and he finally took a breath.

Bucky drove them back to his place after that, and they hung out in his room for the remainder of the night, playing whatever card games they could remember the rules for. It switched periodically throughout, when one of them got bored of their current game and wanted to play another.

When the clock read ten thirty five, Steve decided it would be best for him to make his way home. Bucky didn't want him to go yet.

He wasn't sure what did it, what pushed him over— perhaps it was the sudden fleeing of Steve, the fact that he was going home and Bucky wasn't ready to say goodbye. Perhaps it was something else, something he couldn't begin to understand. Couldn't wrap his head around. Because Steve and him, they'd always been complex. Bucky was saving him from not only the world but himself, and Steve was stuck being saved, because the brunette wasn't ever going to let him go. It sounded simple, but in reality, it was a puzzle on an endless, tiresome loop. It was a loop that both wanted to break but just couldn't discover how.

So maybe that's why Bucky kissed his best friend that night. To stop the loop. To rid them of the stifling air that had always surrounded them. And maybe Steve's widening eyes... the way he crawled back a bit before hitting the wall, attempting to stand.... and then proceeding to collapse back to the floor, pressing his lips against Bucky's again— maybe that is why he can remember it so clearly, even after all of these frozen, unmoving years and ripped-apart memories.

"Seventeen," They say, and this memory triggers itself away. He forgets.

 

*

 

Bucky loved sunrises. Not sunsets, sunrises. Because sets made him think of goodbyes, and a goodbye was painful to remember while he sat on his stiff, metal cot in camp, staring out of the window at the gradient sky. The rises were much more comforting; a bright, yellow glow cast itself against the lightening sky to say hello, breaking away from goodbyes and creating new greetings. The dog-tags pressed to his chest were a reminder that Steve was all alone back home, and a reminder that this being-a-sergeant-thing didn't seem so fun anymore. Not when he knew the feel of Steve's tongue on his lips and couldn't dip back in for one more taste.

"Daybreak," They say, and this memory triggers itself away. He forgets.

 

*

 

Brooklyn winters were cold. And when Steve's heating would bust out back home, Bucky would invite his friend over to crawl up against the blazing furnace in his own home, regaining the warmth he'd lost on the ride over.

They'd sit and talk of nothing. Talk of how Bucky had tried this new alcohol over the weekend that became his new favorite. Or, they'd talk of something. Talk of how Steve's mother's grave was probably iced over right now, and that Steve hoped the flowers he'd laid there yesterday were still holding on to any ounce of life they had left. Steve felt so warm wrapped up in Bucky's blankets, and even warmer in his best friend's arms.

"Furnace," They say, and this memory triggers itself away. He forgets.

 

*

 

Bucky's sister caught onto what had been brewing up between her brother and his best friend before anyone else did. When Bucky learned that Rebecca knew, he'd been mortified. He couldn't grasp how she knew. How could she know, when neither Bucky nor Steve could even make sense of it themselves?

Becca had said that there were nine things that set her off.

The first was the way they looked at each other. She described it as Bucky looking at Steve like he was starved, and the blond was the only food source in the world. And Steve looked at Bucky as if he was a holy relic; eyes widened and eyebrows upturned, a dopey smile on his lips whenever the younger boy caught glance of Bucky.

The second was the sneaky touches. Bucky thought nobody noticed them, but yet again, something he believed he knew was something proven wrong to him. He'd hold Steve's hand underneath blankets while they sat on couches, or brush their knees together "accidentally" while eating dinner. It was chaste, always, but Bucky felt the fireworks sparking flames in his fingertips when his hands were on Steve, and he was addicted to the burn of it.

The third was Steve's drawings. He'd sketch pictures of Bucky everywhere— his sketchpad, random papers, notes, wherever there was space. Most times, it would just be his silhouette, the slope of his nose rolling down over the tip of it and then falling to his upper lip, where the pencil lines budged out more to create an effect of plumpness. Steve took time drawing Bucky's lips, because he loved to kiss them.

The fourth was smaller, a fleeting thing that happened quick— often— but was just another piece to the puzzle. It was the way Bucky always kept Steve from fighting. Or, at least, roughed the other guy up if he ever found his friend getting his ass served to him in a brawl. Bucky didn't do that for anyone. He stood by the thought that if someone gets themselves into a fight, then they've got to own up to it and fight back. But never with Steve, did he abandon him and make him fight. He always helped out, always got himself to the scene of the fight and ripped whoever it was away from his friend. Always.

The fifth was how often Bucky threw around the term "love" when it regarded Steve. Rebecca knew Buck was loving— of course he was. But never had she witnessed him call out that love for a friend of his. It was only ever family, but now, with Steve, Bucky told him he loved him every time he left the house, or when he'd hang up the phone, or when Steve would crack a joke and make Bucky die laughing as if it was the funniest thing on the planet.

That leads into the sixth. Bucky was so desperate for Steve to feel good about himself. So if that took laughing at all of his jokes— even if they weren't funny— or telling the blond that, no, his suit isn't too big for his skinny frame... if that will make Steve smile, even if for one moment, it's worth it for Bucky.

The seventh was harder to spot, but Rebecca grew up alongside Bucky and knows his ticks. Knows how to push his buttons, make him so enraged that he could punch a hole through the wall. Anyone could do it. Except Steve.

Bucky didn't seem to get angry at Steve. Ever. It was an endless cycle of great, big smiles at Steve Rogers, and when Steve would accidentally flip all of Bucky's switches— which, if he were anyone else, would have Bucky halfway up the wall with his head by the time it was finished— Bucky would just smile and shake his head, seemingly forcing away the anger that ravaged inside of his chest.

The eighth flows into the ninth, and that is that Rebecca just always knew. She knew from the first time Steve came to the house to work on homework with Bucky, to the last time she saw him, sitting on the couch and eating god knows what from the pantry. She had this feeling— this sinking, gut feeling, that Steve Rogers was gonna be more than her brother's best friend one day. That he'd mean a hell of a lot more than just another boy in Brooklyn. He'd be something. And she didn't know what for a long time, and she knew that Bucky didn't either. But there was always this little voice at the back of her head, that insisted that Steve could feel it, too. That the blond boy could feel the tsunami wave building up, the height of it rising, until it crashed down and Bucky could finally feel that rush of ocean water as well.

"Nine," They say, and this memory triggers itself away. He forgets.

 

*

 

If Bucky was asked to describe Steve, it would take years. It would take encyclopedia-sized novels to get down every thought he owns about Steve, to capture the complete essence that his best friend radiates. It would go on forever.

But a way that he constantly hears other describe Steve as, is "kind." Always just that simple, four-lettered word. Kind.

And that makes Bucky mad. Because who the hell believes that they can wrap up every amazing thing about Steve, bottle it up, and label it with "kind"? It was a damn shame. He knew what those people saw Steve as. He didn't need to be clairvoyant to know, to sense it, to shuffle through the files in their thoughts to rip apart the term "kind" and find that it means "frail," and "weak," and "too nice."

Steve was too nice. He deserved the world, but the damn, horrible world did not deserve him. He got taken for granted far too often because the goodness inside of him radiated more than anything else that pushed its way out of his body. Too nice. Too kind.

"Benign," They say, and this memory triggers itself away. He forgets.

 

*

 

GWHS's 1934 Homecoming dance was lame, to say the least. Steve had wanted to go because he'd never been to a school event before. Bucky only went because Steve had asked so nicely.

It had only been a few months after they'd kissed for the first time, and it was safe to say that part of Bucky understood them, and part of him did not. Because there was Bucky, and there was Steve. But then there was the two of them, together, as one soul when their lips combined and their hands began to explore unknown places, and what the hell do you call that?

They didn't slow dance at Homecoming. In fact, Bucky had gotten himself a "date" for the occasion, somebody to initiate dances, and then just so happen to call Steve out to jump around with them. The entire night they exchanged glances, reading into the other's thoughts, wanting to feel each other's hands against their skin.

Bucky and Steve lost their virginities to each other that night, both seventeen years old and laying in Bucky's bed. It was warm in the room, and the window was wide open as the breeze blew in and pushed against the curtains. Even then, Bucky couldn't begin to understand them, couldn't put a name to what the feeling was. Because there was love, but also something else. And he could never place it.

"Homecoming," They say, and this memory triggers itself away. He forgets.

 

*

 

When he first met Steve, as a kid only thirteen years old and getting his ass beat by a group of dudes who were far too big to picking on someone that small, Bucky was mad. It was one of the only times Steve had ever seen Bucky angry. He walked forward and yanked one of the guys out, throwing punches for reasons that, at the time, he didn't even get. But he did it because that poor, skinny boy on the ground was trying to fight back, and Bucky couldn't just stand across the damn courtyard and watch.

He'd gotten the bullies to leave Steve alone, and leaned down to help the kid up. He felt authoritative over him, even though he was quite sure they were in the same grade. Maybe it was the size of the kid. Maybe it was the fact that Steve's eyes were so blue and sad looking.

Steve had introduced himself, and so Bucky did the same. Steve Rogers wasn't his only friend, but he was the first person Bucky had ever met that seemed to just get it. He himself didn't know what 'it' was, or what there was to understand about it. But he could just tell that Steve was the only one who could.

"One," They say, and this memory triggers itself away. He forgets.

 

*

 

It was so, so cold. His fingers were slipping away from the bar, hearing it crack and rattle as Steve so-desperately tried to call out for him. The freezing wind blew against his face, making his eyes close involuntary as they began to water. He was afraid. He was afraid of falling.

And maybe that's what he couldn't place, all these years of loving Steve. Maybe what Bucky could never comprehend was the fall. The way he fell in love with Steve was like the way his fingertips slipped from the train, or the way he drifted downwards on a thin cloud of cold air. It was the idea that he was going to crash, and he was going to lose control of everything around him. The way he fell in love with Steve Rogers was the way he fell from the train because in both scenarios, he was going to die. He was going to die from loving Steve.

Steve was somebody you couldn't just love. You had to live him, too. You had to make sure he knew that you get him, you know him, you know that once you've agreed to be in it now, you've got to be in it for as long as he can bear it. You gotta understand that Steve Rogers loves hard, and he loves Bucky far too much to be able to be dropped. It was bordering an addiction for both of them, and this was Bucky's rockbottom.

As he watched Steve fade away as he fell faster, the red and blue shield against his bicep shrinking as his last memory of the boy, he felt it. He felt the pull. The tug of everything in his body trying to explode, trying to self-destruct before he had to hit the ground. There was going to be ice, and it was going to hurt. Oh, god, it was going to hurt so bad...

Bucky could understand it now. He could understand the love between him and Steve Rogers. Could understand that what they had was something not many achieved. Could finally realize that he'd loved Steve long before he'd even met him. From soul to soul, in lifetimes before this... he's been loving Steve for centuries upon centuries, loving him in every body and name he'd ever been given. He knew that he'd loved Steve the most as Bucky. As James Buchanan Barnes, he'd given his entire being to Steven Grant Rogers like he'd done to no other.

"Freight car," They say, and this memory triggers itself away. He forgets.

 

*

 

It is 2014, and Alexander Pierce is smirking in front of a newly-wiped Winter Soldier. He gives him a look.

"You've got a new mission," he whispers. The Winter Soldier's head turns upwards, brown hair falling into his darkened grey eyes. He nods from habit, not from want. It felt as though he was being compelled, strung high from his limbs and having his head forced up and down like a lever. Like a puppet. His tongue felt like sandpaper inside of his mouth.

Except now, these memories weren't going away. They were gonna stick around now, until his mission was dead, and then, well... back under the shocks he'll go.

**Author's Note:**

> wattpad — radstereo  
> tumblr — jupjterjunjper


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